


On The Way

by CodenameIanto



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen, On the Run, but it's pretty subtle so it's kind of up to the reader, pre-PJO, shamelessly adorable, some slight Thalia/Luke, sweet babies, told from the pov of oc mortals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameIanto/pseuds/CodenameIanto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few one-shots of Thalia, Luke, and Annabeth while they were on the run together, before they reached camp. The one-shots so far are all through the eyes of random mortals who encounter them briefly while they're on the run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Thank you, sir. You have a good afternoon, now,” I handed the old man his change and watched him walk out with his little granddaughter. They were regulars here. The next customer shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

He was a tall, handsome boy, maybe around fourteen, but his clothes were torn and faded, and his blond hair looked like it could use a trim. “Could I try a little of the strawberry and a little of the fudge?” I handed him a generous spoonful of each. He quickly licked one, then the other, and for just a moment, his face lit up. Immediately, he forced it into a look of disgust. “Not really a fan, sorry. Maybe next time.”

Now, I knew he was fibbing. First of all, everyone likes Gran’s ChocoFudge Sundaes. That recipe and a crocheted blanket was all I got from Gran before she passed on when I was little, and man, it was worth more than all the money in the world. Second, he was hurrying out with both spoons in his hand, wary not to spill any ice cream on the floor. As I was scooping the next lady’s Low-Cal Summer Lemon Sorbet, I could see the boy giving the half-full ice cream tasting spoons to a little girl, who looked like his sister. She was small and probably didn’t weigh fifty pounds soaking wet, but they both had blond hair and a kinda glow, despite their raggedy state.

An older, black-clad girl was trying to calm the kid down before she dropped the ice cream. The way they were acting, it was like they’d never had ice cream before in their lives. But taking another look at the state of them, it might have been true. Their clothes were faded, old, and dirty, and they had so many holes and rips, those kids might’ve spent their days fighting monsters. They all had scrapes and bruises here and there, and the punk girl’s arm was in a makeshift sling. They probably hadn’t bathed in the last month. Yeah, I knew the type. Street kids. Probably didn’t have any kind of real parents, got their clothes from dumpsters and lost-and-founds when they could, ate what they found or were given.

Heck, I’d been one myself for a year or two, until my brother had gotten old enough to take care of me as best he could. I’d gotten lucky. He’d kept me out of trouble, I’d graduated high school, and eventually ended up owning my own ice cream shop. Maybe not such a lucrative career, but Candice’s Creamery sure caused more smiles than any lawyer’s firm in town.

As they started to walk off, the little one with the curly blond hair still licking the plastic spoons, I made a quick decision. I scooped three Vanilla Bean Delights before the next guy could order, and handed them to the man I’d just served. I pointed out the three kids just outside the big glass window, and luckily, the man understood. The guy walked out, carefully juggling the three ice creams and his own Blueberry Hurricane Shake, and delivered each kid a cone. The smaller girl looked like she might pee herself in excitement, and even the street-toughened punk managed a bit of a smile. Then, as they walked off, the boy casually slipped his free arm around the spiky-haired girl’s shoulders, and the little smile slowly grew until it had transformed her pale face.

It was clear, though, looking at them. The black-clothed girl had never had any real family, and she’d been on her own her whole life, until she’d found her own little family. Yet she took the good things life threw at her with grace, and just enjoyed the sunny day, the ice cream, her friends.

The other girl, the little one who couldn’t have been older than six or seven, was skipping ecstatically along with her ice cream, her curly hair bouncing as she hopped. But I couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t run ahead like the other, chittery kids on the sidewalk. She never strayed more than an arm’s length from the older two, and kept looking back at them as if to make sure everything was really okay. She seemed innocent and cute, but there was a cautious, watchful light in her eyes. Wisdom like that don’t come easy to seven-year-olds.

The boy was the one that worried me the most. He smiled, and looked at his two friends with an almost fatherly eye, but there was resentment boiling away inside him. Sooner or later, he would have to deal with it or it would turn sour, just like it did for my cousins.

The punk teen had clearly raised herself since the day she was born. The angry young man used to have some kind of mom or dad, but he’d evidently been on his own for a while now. But most plain was that wherever the little girl had come from, those two were her parents now.


	2. Chapter 2

Two hours left in my shift, and the end of it couldn’t come close enough for me. Being a cashier for Sam’s Supermarket wasn’t exactly how I’d planned on spending my free time the summer before my senior year, but Mom and Dad insisted. “Brandon, if you’re going to use the car so much to go out with your crazy friends, at least you’d better pay for the gas.” Hey, it could be worse. Sam’s Supermarket was air conditioned, so at least I wasn’t out mowing lawns in the weird 100-degree heat waves we’ve been having. But the strict shifts still meant that I’d be late to Chad’s party tonight, and two hours feels like two freaking years when you’re stuck scanning a bunch of cat food for nutty old ladies at four in the afternoon.

So anyways, I’m standing here bagging stuff when these two middle-schoolers show up in the line with no adult chaperon in sight. The only thing they’re holding is a single loaf of WonderBread. I mean, shouldn’t these kids be watching cartoons or something? They’re like twelve, and the boy looks like he’s holding something behind his back. Just when I think he’s trying to steal a candy bar with the skill level of a three year old, this little face pops forward. He’s giving this tiny squirt a piggyback ride in a grocery store while his punk friend is holding a bag of WonderBread. On top of that, they’re all scuffed up like they got in a fight with an angry cat and maybe a gorilla too.

“Look, Luke,” the punk pre-teen is saying, “let’s just pay and get out of here. I’ve still got that change we found yesterday, and if we run, we can probably catch the 4:30 train to Philadelphia.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” says the boy, although I get the feeling that he wasn’t really listening much. Suddenly, his face lights up. “Wait, Thalia!”

She raises an eyebrow in reply, as if not only is this type of revelation common, but also typically quite unhelpful. “Does this have anything to do with airplanes? Because I told you already, my dad-”

“No, no, no, I heard that already! Your dad doesn’t like you flying, I get it,” interrupts the blond boy. “But I was just thinking...you still have that half-full jar of peanut butter we picked up at that weird Cyclops house, right?” Cyclops? I think. I’d better get my hearing checked.

“Yes...It’s in my pack back at the…” The girl shoots a meaningful look in my direction. “Back at school.”

“Excellent!” says the boy, struggling to look dignified with a first-grader clinging to his back. “If we can make the train, we can celebrate our new addition, Annabeth, with some good old-fashioned peanut butter sandwiches!” This one definitely has a bit of a devilish air about him, I decide. But seriously, are peanut butter sandwiches that big of a deal to these kids?

Taking another look at their clothes and the way the girl clutches the single, wilting loaf of bread, I reconsider. So when the punk girl with such electrifying blue eyes tries to hand me a crumpled handful of dollar bills, I do a quick evaluation. Adam, the sweaty store manager, is off on some “corporate retreat” today, and Jen ran out to take her break ten minutes ago, so it’s just me. And something tells me that the only people here who would actually miss the loaf in question are the three tattered kids standing in front of me, debating the best course of action to “get the hell out of here”, according to the blue-eyed girl. Her black leather jacket is still too big for her, and only the tips of her fingers emerge from the sleeve when she reaches out to take the WonderBread I slide across the counter to her, on top of her unused, wadded-up dollar bills.

With a nod of thanks and a funny little wriggling motion to keep his puny passenger from taking the one-way train to the grocery store floor, the boy dashes out the door, dragging the girl behind him on their way to their next adventure. As I scan yet another bag of cat litter for an odd-smelling elderly citizen, I can’t help but wonder what stories those kids could tell.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to write a few more chapters for this, so please let me know what you think. Is this a format that works? Are the characters in character, are my oc's alright? Should I keep going? Thanks a ton! And, obviously, the characters and world of PJO belong to Rick Riordan, not me. Duh.


End file.
